


those rumors, they have big teeth

by ohmygodwhy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, it's like a mix of both lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-18 16:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11294814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygodwhy/pseuds/ohmygodwhy
Summary: “If he has his phone with him,” Kunimi breaks the silence quietly, "and I’m assuming he does, because it keeps moving, he’s headed West, near the outskirts of Tokyo. We can send the exact location to your GPS once we get it.”“Thanks,” Iwaizumi mumbles, and Kunimi nods.He’s halfway out the door when Matsukawa’s voice stops him, “Hey, Iwaizumi. Bring him back, okay? We need our captain.”(or: you're not allowed to quit, oikawa quits anyways, and iwaizumi has 48 hours to find him)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is like?? a spy/assassin au that's also sweatpants-loosely inspired by Nikita (it's a cool show u should rlly check out on netflix) which i started watching recently and got Inspired™ and this mess was born lmao
> 
> warning for implied/referenced sex n stuff

 

It’s not like he didn’t see this coming.

He thinks he knew, deep down, that something like this would have to happen eventually. There have been hints, throughout the year. For all the fame the asshole had racked up, Iwaizumi knew he didn’t love what they did. Hell, Iwaizumi didn’t love what they did, but that didn’t mean he was gonna be an idiot about it. Oikawa had always had this bad habit of being an idiot.

Iwaizumi is still halfway out of his jacket when he makes it onto Seijou’s floor, rushing out of the elevator before the damn thing stops dinging.

Matsukawa is the first person he sees. Knowing him, he was probably waiting for him.

“Did you hear?” he asks. His eyes are alert and awake, and the sleepy resting face he always sports is gone.

“Why the hell do you think I’m here?” Iwaizumi snaps.

Matsukawa falls into step beside him, “Do you think it’s true?”

“Of course not,” he snaps, “Oikawa’s an idiot, but he’s not this stupid.”

“They’re saying some pretty bad shit about him.”

“They’ve said some pretty bad shit about all of us.”

Matsukawa hums some kind of agreement, but doesn’t have time to say anything more before they step into the control center and the sea of noise drowns out anything else.

Hanamaki sees them first, “Shit, Iwaizumi,” he says, “Do you know what the hell is happening? Did he really go rogue?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. He feels a headache coming on already, “I don’t know. No one’s told me shit.”

From the look on Hanamaki’s face, he’d say they’re in the same boat, “He wouldn’t do something like that, right? They said he’s fuckin’—planning to sell ‘government secrets’ or some shit. That he’s a double agent.”

Iwaizumi feels sick, “Oikawa isn’t a goddamn double agent. He’s just being stupid.”

Hanamaki nods, but he still looks like he might throw up. Iwaizumi definitely feels like he might throw up.

They all know what happens to double agents.

“Shit,” Hanamaki breathes, “What is he _doing_?”

Iwaizumi just shakes his head helplessly.

“Iwaizumi!” he looks up see Yahaba walking briskly towards him. The poor guy looks like he’s been up all night. “Do you—?“

“Yeah,” he cuts him off before he has to hear the goddamn question again, and then, because if anyone knows what’s happening, it’s Yahaba, he asks, “What are they saying, exactly?”

Yahaba swallows, glances over his shoulder, “Apparently, he downloaded some file, a list, and is planning to sell it to someone? They say he’s been in communication with someone in an enemy government.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck. “Is he?”

Yahaba shakes his head furiously, “ _No_. I checked everything, his laptop and all his stupid phones, there’s no record of any of that.”

“Are you sure?” Hanamaki asks.

“Of course I’m sure.” he says defensively, “Besides, if he ever wants to erase any digital evidence, he comes to me, and it’s always only for stupid shit. He wouldn’t do this.”

“I know,” he puts a placating hand up, “We just have to be sure.”

Yahaba scoffs. “All he did was quit.”

Iwaizumi’s heart drops, “He fucking what?”

“He called in this morning, after I clocked in. Said he was done. That it was time to pass the torch or whatever.” Yahaba pauses, biting his lip, “He knows he can’t just quit this, right?

Iwaizumi swallows, “He’s not serious.”

“He sounded pretty serious.”

“He would’ve said something,” he insists. _I would’ve known_ , he doesn’t say out-loud, _he would’ve told me._

“Look, I don’t know why he’s doing this,” Yahaba looks at Iwaizumi, eyes hard, “but I think you fucked up.”

 _This isn’t on me,_ he wants to say, _this isn’t my fault_ , but then Yahaba is turning away and a hush is falling over the room.  

Irihata, the head of Seijou’s department, strolls in, as collected as ever. He doesn’t look surprised to see any of them there this early in the morning, despite the fact that half of them have the day off. Oikawa always did have a way of ruining good things for everyone else. His eyes linger on Iwaizumi.

“I’m sure you’ve heard a lot of rumors this morning,” he starts, voice pitched low and understanding, “and I’m sure you have a lot of questions. But before you start asking, we need to put a stop to this…problem, before it spirals out of control.”

“What _problem_?” some brave, stupid soul shouts.

Irihata sighs deeply, like it pains him to speak of it, “I’m sure you’ve heard, but,” a dramatic pause, “Oikawa Tooru has gone rogue. He has abandoned the agency, and there is speculation of him being a double agent.” he says over the hush of whispers; Iwaizumi has always known, in the back of his mind, that Irihata was not their friend, not their comrade, but it still struck something in him to hear their boss talk about Oikawa like this, like he hadn’t trained him for years and helped mold him as an agent.

“Bullshit,” Yahaba says behind him, just a touch too loud. Irihata looks over sharply. _Stupid_ , Iwaizumi wants to whisper.  

“I know it’s hard,” he continues, “A betrayal like this cuts deep, I know it does. But you can’t let personal convictions stop you from—“

“With all due respect, sir,” Iwaizumi cuts in on impulse, doesn’t want to listen to any more of this; he flounders for a moment, but he’s always been a quick thinker, “I think, in this case, that personal convictions could prove…useful.”

Irihata raises an eyebrow. Iwaizumi ignores Yahaba’s angry huff.  

“I can talk to him,” he says, “I can stop this before it blows up, I just need some time. Let me reason with him.”

The room is quiet. Iwaizumi can feel everyone looking at him, but he’s only looking at their boss. Irihata studies him for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. He looks like he wants to refuse, but he knows better than anyone that Iwaizumi is practically the only one Oikawa actually listens to. He’s their best shot at ending this quietly, and they all know it.

Eventually, Irihata nods. “You have forty-eight hours. If you can’t bring him in by then, we’ll be forced to intervene.”

Iwaizumi nods. He hears a sigh of relief, doesn’t know whether it was Yahaba or Hanamaki or both. It doesn’t matter.

“Thank you, sir.”  

 

Two nights before, and Iwaizumi’s apartment smells like coffee, sex, and the shitty peppermint candles Matsukawa got him for Christmas as a joke last year. (Oikawa loves them, mostly because Iwaizumi hates them.) It’s a horrible combination, but that doesn’t matter very much. It’s better than nothing. A sharp scent of smoke fills the air, and Iwaizumi shoots Oikawa a Look where he’s sprawled out on the other side of the bed.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Oikawa says around the cigarette, “It’s all part of the aftercare.”

Iwaizumi snorts, “You don’t smoke.”

Oikawa shrugs, “All the best _secret agents_ do; maybe I should start. I _am_ the best, right?”

Iwaizumi hums noncommittally, “If you wanna die young, go ahead.”

Oikawa just laughs, and puts the cigarette out on the wall. Iwaizumi would yell at him for that if he wasn’t feeling so relaxed.

“Time?” he asks. He thinks he might’ve knocked the clock off of his bedside table.

“All these years, and you still think I’m the kinda person who wears a watch in bed?” Oikawa huffs a laugh, “I’m not Kageyama.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t dignify that with an answer, just rolls off the bed and stretches, bends down to look for the damn clock. It’s barely past midnight, which is surprising. The sky is dark outside his window, but the city is bright. If you watched it all night, you’d never be able to tell what time it is—the whole damn place never gets any rest.

He turns around to Oikawa fixing his hair in the reflection of his phone camera. He watches his fingers run down his neck, his shoulders, dip into his collarbones, tracing the purple bruises and the bite mark on his upper arm.

“God, you’re such an animal,” he complains.

He rolls his eyes, feeling around blindly until he finds his boxers on the floor, “Says the heathen who always fucks up my back.”

“People aren’t gonna _see_ your stupid back.” Oikawa whines, “I have a meeting with Mr. CEO tomorrow, and I hate collared shirts.”

Oikawa’s latest mission is to get close to and eliminate the head of a company that’s been using government funding to fill his personal accounts—and the accounts of his friends, but apparently they’re not the ones who have to get killed for it.

“Can’t wait to start talking about other men until I’m done with you?” Iwaizumi teases, tossing Oikawa’s shirt at him.

“That’s your problem,” Oikawa says with a sigh, pulling his shirt down, “you’re never done with me.”

“Do you want me to be done with you?”

Oikawa tilts his head at him, looking like he’s deciding whether to take it as an honest question or a challenge.

“I think I just want you to make up your mind about it.” he says.

Iwaizumi looks away. It’s almost one in the morning. “I think you should probably go. It’s getting late.”

He hears Oikawa scoff behind him, but get up all the same. Iwaizumi checks his phone while Oikawa pulls on the rest of his clothes, probably glaring daggers into his back.

“Fuck you, Hajime,” he bites, throwing the front door open the way he does when he gets like this. 

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” he says, and frowns when Oikawa slams the door.

 

“Can you track his location?”

Yahaba scoffs at the question like it’s personally offended him, and Kunimi raises a lazy eyebrow (considerably less lazy than usual) from the seat beside him.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Yahaba’s tone holds a little more bite than it normally does—he’d never usually talk to his superiors like this, but Iwaizumi thinks he deserves a pass this time. Everyone is on edge. You could cut the tension with a knife.

Iwaizumi puts up a placating hand, “Okay, good. How long will it take?”

Yahaba gives him this _look_ , a single well-plucked eyebrow raised just so, that he usually reserves for Kyoutani, “You’ve worked here how long?”

Iwaizumi scowls, “I’m a field agent, I don’t do the tracking, I do the actual job.”

Yahaba just rolls his eyes and leans forwards in his chair, focusing on the screen in front of him. Oikawa is close with everyone on the team, more or less, even if there were some who preferred to keep their distance (read: Kyoutani), but Yahaba had alway been one of Oikawa’s favorites. The guy looked up to him so much Iwaizumi was amazed Oikawa’s ego hadn’t killed him yet. He thinks this must’ve hit him hard.

Iwaizumi frowns—he understands the anger, but he doesn’t have time for this, “Look, I know you’re mad at him—“

“I’m not _mad_ at him,” Yahaba cuts it, “I’m too—I’m too worried about him to be mad.” he suddenly turns his glare on Iwaizumi “I’m mad at _you.”_

“ _Me?”_ he sputters.

“It’s _your_ fault he’s doing all this.”

“It’s not—“

But Yahaba is merciless, “It _is_ , and you know it. You’re the reason he ran off, so you better get him back before it’s too late.”

In any other situation, the silence would be broken by Matsukawa whistling lowly or Oikawa trying to dispel the heavy atmosphere. Matsukawa doesn’t whistle, and Oikawa isn’t here to prattle on until they forgot what they were fighting about to begin with. Iwaizumi almost misses it.

“If he has his phone with him,” Kunimi breaks the silence quietly, "and I’m assuming he does, because it keeps moving, he’s headed West, near the outskirts of Tokyo. We can send the exact location to your GPS once we get it.”

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi mumbles, and Kunimi nods. Yahaba still won’t look at him.

He’s halfway out the door when Matsukawa’s voice stops him, “Hey, Iwaizumi. Bring him back, okay? We need our captain.”

Iwaizumi nods. He can’t promise anything. This is the best he can do.

 

One night before, and Oikawa flaked out on the dinner party with the CEO he was supposed to go to.

“Irihata’s gonna kill you,” Iwaizumi says into the phone, “What the hell were you thinking?”

He can practically feel Oikawa shrugging on the other side of the phone, “I didn’t wanna go. Last time I went to one of those things he felt me up under the table, _ugh,_ ” he fake gags.

Iwaizumi snorts, “Thought you usually used shit like that to fuel your spite. You said it makes taking them out easier.”

Oikawa is quiet for a moment, before he sighs dramatically, “Maybe I’m just tired of being felt up by rich old men.”

Iwaizumi takes a bite of his cereal to hide a laugh. He doesn’t need the bastard thinking he’s funny now, too.

“Enough about me,” Oikawa says, “How was your day? Do anything exciting?”

Iwaizumi huffs a laugh, and it’s surprisingly domestic, the whole asking about your day thing, like Oikawa wants to know, like it’s important to him, it’s almost like they’re—he nips that thought  right in the bud by saying, “Does helping Hanamaki unclog his second apartment’s sink count as exciting?”

Oikawa makes a sound of disbelief, “He’s a _trained agent,_ why did he need help?”

“Okay, so, he somehow got a wet towel down the drain, and then tried to get it out with a fork—“

“Did he get the fork stuck, too?” he guesses, laughing.

Iwaizumi nods, “And then he _turned on the water_.”

“Did he _want_ it to get clogged?”

“He said he was gonna ask Mattsun to help him with it, y’know, ‘cause he’s an idiot who won’t just confess already, but Mattsun was busy.”

Oikawa laughs again, but it’s different, subtly. It sounds grated, and forced. He’s so good at faking it that sometimes Iwaizumi wonders if he practices in the mirror when he’s alone.

“They really should get together soon,” Oikawa says, voice purposefully light, “They’re so oblivious it’s ridiculous.”

“Oikawa,” he starts, not sure what he’s gonna say, but Oikawa interrupts him.

“Y’know, sometimes I wonder—you call Makki an idiot for not confessing. It’s like you have no sense of self-awareness.”

He sighs deeply, but his heart is pounding in his chest. Oikawa’s hinted at stuff like this before, but he’s never been this blunt about it. (He wonders later, when he pulls out of the parking lot, if he was so upfront because he was already planning to go rogue. He wonders what he could’ve said to make him stay.)

“I’ve told you before, we can’t do this.”

“But why not?” he sounds vaguely like a stubborn child.

“Oikawa, you know the agency doesn’t allow relationships—“

“It also ‘doesn’t allow’ personal use of their fancy cars, but that’s never stopped you!”

“Tooru—“

“Don’t ‘Tooru’ me. Yahaba and Kyoken are doing just fine. Hell, _Kageyama_ got himself a boyfriend somehow.”

“Sure,” Iwaizumi admits, “but you know that not everyone--not everyone was as…accepting of it as their friends were. You remember what almost happened to Kageyama’s—to that short dude, right?”

“Of course I remember.” he says softly, “I also remember that the asshole got big time punishment for it.”

“Define ‘big time’. He got off easy, Oikawa. The higher-ups didn’t care.”

“Who cares what the ‘higher-ups think?” he sounds exasperated, “They also think that seventeen years old is a great time to start training and that coffee shouldn’t be a mandatory part of every early morning debrief—they don’t know shit!”

“They do _pay_ us, though. We still owe them.”

“Owe them what? A guilty conscience and blood on our hands?”

“ _Please_ , like you have a goddamn conscience.”

“I have a bigger one than you, apparently!” Oikawa bites back, “What happened to the kid who fought people for kicking a dog in an alley?”

“Dogs aren’t a threat to national security.”

“Some of the people they tell us to kill aren’t, either!”

“This isn’t about that, and you know it.”

“Then what is it about?”

“You just,” he huffs, rubs at his forehead, “I can’t do this, Oikawa. I’m not—“

“Not what? Say it.”

“I’m not—like you,”

“Really?” Oikawa snaps, “And what am I _‘like_?”

“Tooru—“

“You can’t even say it. You sure as hell weren’t complaining the other night—you know, when I sucked your soul out through your—“

“ _God,_ Oikawa—all I did was call you pretty and you were _all_ over me—“

“Fuck you, _Hajime_ ,” he cuts in sharply, “don’t you dare put this all on me. Don’t act like you didn’t have a part in it every other time. What about that time in America, huh? You were the one who seemed a little too eager then.”

“That was a—“

“What—a mistake? Is that what you’re gonna say?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” he shrugs helplessly, “It was, okay? A mistake.”

“Yeah?” his voice is high, mocking, “What about the time in France? Or your last birthday? Christmas last year? Were those mistakes, too?”

“Yes! They—they shouldn’t have happened. We shouldn’t keep doing this.”

“I can’t _believe_ you. You knew how I felt about you, and you still did it anyways—‘cause you knew I’d do whatever you asked me to, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t like that—“

“Then what was it like? Did you feel sorry for me? Was it pity sex?” he spits, “Why’d you come crawling into my bed when your ex dumped you two months ago, then? Was it ‘cause you knew I’d be easy?”

“No, it—it’s not _like that,_ Oikawa.”

“Then what the _fuck_ are we doing? I know you feel something, I _know_ you do, so why do you keep fucking with me like this?”

“You wanted to keep it casual—“

“ _You_ wanted to keep it casual,” Oikawa snarls, “So I wanted to keep it casual, ‘cause I didn’t wanna—I don’t know, scare you away? ‘Cause you’re such a fucking coward, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to says something, to bite back with something fierce, but nothing comes out.

“I don’t—I don’t love you, Tooru,” he chokes out, forces himself to say, forces himself not to cry or do something else equally pathetic, “I don’t love you.”

There’s silence, the sound of heavy breathing, “You’re a fucking coward.”

The line goes dead.

Hajime throws his phone, and watches it shatter against the wall.

 

Just to be safe, he checks Oikawa’s HQ apartment, a few doors down from his own. It’s empty. He didn’t expect to find anyone there, but the absence is still irritating. The silence is too heavy—a place Oikawa Tooru exists in is not supposed to be this quiet. It’s not natural.

His phone, keys, laptop, conditioner, sunglasses and favorite jacket are all gone, too. He leaves as soon as he confirms that no one’s home.

The exact location isn’t in his GPS when he gets in his car—Oikawa must be moving quickly, could be using the cell towers in the city to throw them off. Usually, his second choice would be to check Oikawa’s other apartment, the one he bought for himself, away from HQ, but it’s in the opposite direction, so he pulls out of the driveway and heads West.

He turn on the radio, turns it off, puts his sunglasses on, takes them off because there’s hardly any sun today, and sighs in irritation.

Five minutes in, he caves. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his recent contacts—Oikawa is the first one, but he scrolls all the way down, just to stall a little. _You’re a fucking coward_ , Oikawa says in the back of his mind, and he scrolls all the way back up and calls the bastard just to prove him wrong.

His call is declined.

“Oh, fuck you,” he growls, and calls him again.

Voicemail.

He calls him a third goddamn time, pride be damned, because this is serious shit; he can be petty later. Apparently, Oikawa cannot.

 **_where are you?_ ** he shoots an angry text when the call goes to voicemail again.

His phone buzzes a moment later:

_lol aren’t you tracking my location_

Iwaizumi frowns.

**_you could just stop being stupid and make this easier for everyone_ **

_by ‘everyone’ you mean you, right? why would i wanna do that lmao  ┐( ˘_˘ )┌_

_you never made things easier for me_

It’s heavier than the previous texts. He can’t hear the teasing behind it that he usually can. It makes him scowl.

**_this isn’t about that_ **

The bastard doesn’t have to make things personal, he thinks. (Another part of him thinks that every single part of this is personal. That part of him thinks that he probably should've either put a stop to that or actually gotten his shit together and done something about it. He’s a coward.)

He has to wait five minutes for the next text.

_ur so stupid iwa-chan_

He realizes he doesn’t have anything to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything, decides to just wait for Yahaba or Kunimi to pinpoint his exact location and send it to him, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.

His phone buzzes again.

The next text is a selfie. Iwaizumi only glances at it for a moment—the trademark peace sign and wink—until a second glance has him screeching to a stop and pulling off the road. The colorful splotches of the New York City skyline are caught in a frame hanging on the wall behind him—a gift, homage to their trip to America a few years ago.

It hangs in the foyer of Iwaizumi’s house on the outskirts of Tokyo. It’s more of a safe house, but it’s his second most used location—his favorite. He sleeps there more than he sleeps at his own apartment at headquarters.

It’s a well-known fact that Iwaizumi loves his alcohol. He especially loves the fancy stuff, well-aged wines and expensive brands. Oikawa always used to say that Iwaizumi only liked it because it made him feel grown up and professional. Iwaizumi would always tell him he was full of shit, but the truth is that once he got a taste of the good stuff, he knew he couldn’t go back to cheap college party beer. He’d built up a nice collection over the years—built in an expensive looking bar and everything, since he could do whatever he damn well pleased with his money, no matter how much Oikawa teased him about it. He was proud of it. It was nice to come home to after a long mission. (He’d also had some amazing sex on the bar counter.)

In the picture, there’s a bottle in Oikawa’s hand, held loosely with his thumb and the fingers not stuck up in that _stupid_ goddamn peace sign. 35 Year Old Blended Malt Whisky.

 _how expensive is this one again????_ the next text reads.

 **_don’t you fucking dare_ ** , Iwaizumi types out furiously.

_;) ;) ;)_

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi swears, stepping on the gas and swerving back out onto the road.

It takes him a solid twenty minutes and all his willpower not to speed once he gets off the main freeway. The front door is locked when he stomps up the stairs—the bastard probably did that on purpose, he thinks angrily, just to fuck with him. By the time he gets the door open, he can hear the back door swing shut.

The mess he walks into almost makes him cry.

It’s in ruins.

Shattered glass covers the room, tile and granite, alcohol painting the floor and unpainted walls (“ _You’re so_ boring _, Iwa-chan, haven’t you ever heard of color?_ ”) like an oversaturated swirl of watercolor. He poured the red wine down the sink, the absolute _bastard_ , smeared it all over the New York City skyline. He even kicked the goddamn barstools over. Iwaizumi’s gonna kill him.

The only thing left is the tiny bottle of straight vodka he keeps for mixed shots. He’s always hated vodka.

He gets that he’s angry, he really does--but this? This is too much, it’s crossing a line and that bastard knows it. He knows he’s angry, but that doesn’t give him a right to act like a pissed off ex—act like they were together, act like Iwaizumi broke his heart. ( _You’re a fucking coward_ , Oikawa says.)

God, he’s gonna _kill_ him.

He hears the faint sound of his car starting outside.

_“Fuck.”_

 

He gets a phone call thirty minutes later, ringing from the passenger’s seat of the backup convertible he had in the garage. It’s an unknown number—Oikawa left his shattered phone in the middle of the kitchen—but he knows who it is before he answers it.

“You asshole,” he says when he picks up the phone, “You absolute asshole.”

“Hello to you too,” Oikawa says, voice pitched light and amused.

“You fucker,” Iwaizumi snarls, “What the fuck is wrong with you.”

Oikawa just laughs. It’s forced, and ugly and grates on Iwaizumi’s ears.

“You can still stop this,” Iwaizumi says after a moment, “It’s not too late.”

“Stop what?” Oikawa asks innocently, “I’m not doing anything wrong. People quit their jobs all the time. It makes a statement.”

“It’s gonna get you killed, you idiot.”

Oikawa scoffs, “I’m not selling secrets or whatever bullshit they’ve been telling you. I haven't _‘chosen the enemies_ ’ side’, either,” he can practically hear him doing air quotes, “You do know that, right?”

Iwaizumi frowns “Of course I know that.”

A heavy pause, “The team knows that too, right?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, rubbing at his eyes, “Yeah, of course they do. You’re a lot of things, but you’re a not a mole.”

He thinks he hears something like a relieved sigh on the other end, “Good,” Oikawa says after a moment, “That’s good. Can’t have the newbies thinking bad of me.”

Iwaizumi snorts, “They haven't been newbies for almost nine months. They’ve been on more missions than Yahaba has.”

“Still, they’re like my children. I don’t want them thinking their captain is gonna reveal all their deepest darkest secrets. What would Kindaichi do if the world knew he watches Project Runway on the weekends?”

“You’d make a horrible parent.”

Oikawa laughs. For a moment, it feels like everything’s fine, like Iwaizumi isn’t going to be ordered to hunt down his best friend in less than forty-eight hours.

Whatever sense of normalcy he’s feeling drops at the thought. Oikawa must sense the mood change, because the line goes very quiet.

“You will tell them though, right?” he asks quietly, “Just in case?”

A red light has him slowing to a stop. He closes his eyes, “Sure,” he says, “I’ll tell them.” and then, a moment later, “Oikawa, please, just. Think about what you’re doing.”

“I have thought about it,” Oikawa says, “Give me some credit, I always think things through.”

“So you thought through how you’re gonna die?”

“I’m not gonna _die._ ”

Suddenly angry, Iwaizumi hits the steering wheel, “They’re going to send me after you, you know that, right? And if not me, they’ll send someone else. You don’t walk away from shit like this. Once you’re in, you’re in until you get shot and die or something. You knew that when you signed up.”

“You know _damn_ well I didn’t _sign up_ ,” Oikawa snarls, voice low.

“Oikawa—“

“They’re bad people. They do bad things.”

“I do bad things,” he hates how desperate he sounds, “Am I a bad person? What about the team, Watari and fuckin’ Kindaichi. Are they bad people?”

 _“No,_ ” Oikawa says sharply, “No, you just. They were caught in bad situations. They don’t deserve this shit, and neither do you. Don’t you wanna _get out_?”

Someone honks behind him. He opens his eyes and keeps driving, “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“You _don’t know_?”

Iwaizumi shrugs helplessly, even though he knows Oikawa can’t see him, “It’s what I’m good at. I get good money for it. I’m not in prison.”

“You _kill_ people.”

“So do _you._ ”

Oikawa goes quiet again. “I don’t want to anymore.”

“Bullshit. Are you really having some moral dilemma suddenly, or this about us?”

Oikawa laughs again, forced, cracked, “Not everything is about _you_ , Iwa-chan. And they say I have an ego.”

“You’ve never had a problem before.”

“Of course I have. But you think I wanted to die in there?” he huffs something that could’ve been a laugh somewhere else, “I can get out now. I’m out.”

“No, you’re not. They can track you down, you know they can. Whatever problem you have with me, we can deal with it, you just—“ he breathes, “you just have to come back. You’ll be in deep shit, but at least you won’t be dead. You _can’t get out of this_ , Oikawa.”

There’s a very long pause, a small sliver of hope that maybe he’s finally gotten through to him.

“Watch me,” Oikawa snarls, and hangs up.

Iwaizumi punches the steering wheel so he doesn’t throw his phone again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a puppy is born w every comment ☆⌒(ゝ。∂)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi glances at him carefully, “You’re really thinking about this?”
> 
> “Honestly, I’m kinda surprised you aren’t thinking about this.” Hanamaki answers, “When I heard Oikawa was gone, the first thing I thought is that you were probably gone, too.”
> 
> Iwaizumi is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im back w more gay spy angst™ and the more i wrote the more i realized tht the whole plot is basically the 'don't forget: you're here forever' but like,,,,no one wants to be there forever,,,
> 
> warning for references of violence n stuff tht comes w being a dang assassin lol

 

 

“He probably smashed his phone,” Hanamaki says about twenty minutes later.

“Yeah, I know,” Iwaizumi grumbled into the phone, “He left it at my house.”

“The one with the bar?’

Iwaizumi has to stop himself from fucking growling at the thought of his goddamn bar, “Yeah. He took my car, too.”

“Did you talk to him?” comes Matsukawa’s sudden voice.

“Am I on speaker phone?”

“Of course—but did you talk to him?”

Iwaizumi wets his dry lips, “I mean, in a sense—he called me after.”

“After what?” Yahaba’s voice, this time.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says quickly, “He called me, we talked—the bastard is dead set on proving he has a death wish.”

“So did he quit?” Kindaichi, surprisingly, voice hesitant but curious, afraid, “Or did he really…”

“He quit,” Iwaizumi says gruffly, “Like I said, he’s not a goddamn double agent, he’s just being stupid.” 

There’s something that sounds like a collective sigh of relief.

“I knew it,” Yahaba says, voice vaguely shaky, “I knew he wouldn’t do something like that.” 

There’s silence for a moment, all of them thinking their individual thoughts, before Hanamaki asks, “So why did he quit? Did he say?”

“No,” Iwaizumi lies, “I don’t know.”

More silence, and he can almost see the way Yahaba would look at him if he were here right now, eyes firm and knowing. He doesn’t know what Oikawa had told him about their…arrangement, if he told him anything at all, but he thinks he knows enough. Enough to blame. _You’re a fucking coward,_ Oikawa reminds him.

_I know,_ Iwaizumi wishes he could say back, is glad he can’t. _Fuck you, I know._

Oikawa’s always been the brave one, is the thing, one of the agency’s ‘best and brightest’ even when Iwaizumi knew it scared him half to death, always the one to make the first move, whether it was during training or a mission or a kiss, a touch, a fuck. Oikawa’s always been the brave one; Iwaizumi always followed two steps behind. 

Here, in the middle of this shitshow they’re all stuck in, he can’t follow. He can’t see him enough to follow, or maybe he just doesn’t want to. _You’re a fucking coward._

“I’m headed back to HQ,” he says eventually, “Don’t tell Irihata. We need to find another way to track his location.”

He says _we_ , because he knows the rest of them are dying to help, would probably do something on their own even if he didn’t ask. Oikawa had always been willing to go to hell and back for his team, so of course they were always ready to return the favor—whether Oikawa wanted them to or not.

(And he hates to admit it, but Iwaizumi thinks that maybe he can’t do this on his own.)

“I think I might know a way,” Kunimi speaks up, sounding more awake and engaged than he’s heard in a long time, the way he gets when the stakes are high and personal.

Iwaizumi nods, though he knows they can’t see him “I’ll be there soon. Be ready.”

 

Earlier that morning, there is a brief period of time, before everything goes to absolute shit, that Iwaizumi doesn’t know Oikawa has left. 

Sure, he thinks Oikawa will be mad for a while, will probably drag it out for a bit in that petty, passive aggressive way of his, but he’ll get over it. He always does. Usually, it would lead to some pretty aggressive make-up sex, but he isn’t sure if that’ll happen this time. He thinks probably not—and that’s fine, he doesn’t want it to happen this time. He’s glad that whatever _thing_ they have going is probably over now (and if he tells himself that enough times, maybe he’ll start to believe it). Maybe he’ll finally find some goddamn peace.

Today is supposed to be his day off, too, his first in a while. It’s been busy lately, more so than usual. He’ll finally be able to relax—though maybe not as much as he wants, because he should probably find a way to apologize to Oikawa, lest he be cursed with annoyed side-glances and rude comments whispered just loud enough for him to hear for the next however long he’s gonna be mad at him. 

(And later, hovering behind Kunimi, hands crossed over his chest, he thinks that he probably should’ve stopped thinking of Oikawa as some kind of afterthought, another task he had to get out of the way. He wondered when exactly he started thinking like this. He wonders how long he’s been thinking like this, and wonders if Oikawa knows.)

He’s halfway out of bed, head filled with half-formed plans for the day—something lowkey, he thinks, a lazy day in—when he gets a text. He knows it’s probably not Oikawa—the man loves his aggressive silences—but when he glances at it, he’s surprised. It’s Kenma, of all people. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t talk to the younger man much—they’re in separate divisions, for one, and Nekoma’s floor is a few above theirs—but their captains are pretty good friends, so they see enough of each other to have this kinda mutual respect thing going. They both have to put up with a lot of shit. 

Still, for all the time the guy spends on that phone of his, he doesn’t actually text very many people. Definitely not Iwaizumi. More awake, now, Iwaizumi reaches for his phone. 

_do you know what’s going on?_ the text reads.

Iwaizumi blinks.

**_what do you mean?_ **

A long pause, the three dots on the screen staring up at him. He glances at the clock he had knocked over two nights before, suddenly vaguely anxious. His phone buzzes.

_oh…_

_i figured you of all people would know_

The anxiety in his chest turns to some kind of dread.

**_know about what? what’s going on?_ **

_people gossip, so it might be all talk but_

_apparently oikawa went rouge. they’re saying he’s a traitor_

_kuroo wants to know if it’s true_

Iwaizumi’s heart sinks—drops right out of his fucking chest. _What?_

**_it’s not_** , he types out, hands shaking, because it’s not, it can’t be, there’s no fucking way. 

_ok. i’ll tell kuroo._

Iwaizumi locks his phone, tries not to throw up, pulls his jeans on, grabs his jacket, bolts out the door, and tries his very goddamn best not to panic. 

(He’s afraid.)

 

“So you know those chips they put in your hip when they first recruit you?” Kunimi asks. 

They’re all there, all of them, the whole damn team. Even Kyoutani, sitting on a table a few chairs away, hands crossed over his chest, looks alert and focused. A focused Kyoutani is a dangerous Kyoutani—it had taken a long time for the agency to get him on The Right Track. Even now, they all have to be careful about the missions they send him on—definitely nothing diplomatic, and definitely nothing undercover. The kid couldn’t lie his way out of a paper bag.

It’s almost scary, the kind of power Oikawa can harness from simply not being there. The eight people in this room would kill for him. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, because Kunimi is asking all of them, but he’s looking at him, “It’s in case you get poisoned, right? It can inject anti-toxins into your bloodstream,” and, after a second thought, “It saved Bokuto’s life once, didn’t it?”

Kunimi nods vaguely. He scans the room and then glances at Yahaba, who nods almost imperceptibly and reaches behind him to turn up the music Kindaichi is always listening to. 

He bites his lip, and leans forwards; they all mimic him, “I don’t think that’s all they are.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to say something, but Hanamaki beats him, “What the hell do you mean?”

Yahaba speaks up, voice low, “We’ve been digging through old files—“

“You fucking what?” Iwaizumi cuts in—technically, he’s the one in charge right now, “Now’s not exactly the best time to look suspicious.”

Yahaba, who’s been spending way too much damn time around Oikawa, rolls his eyes, “It’s a private network, they don’t even know we’re there.”

“People use them all the time, actually,” Kunimi adds, “Higher-ups assume it’s for security purposes.”

Still frowning, Iwaizumi gestures for them to continue.

The two tech agents share a look, before Yahaba glances around again, like he’s afraid someone might hear, because someone always hears.

“We think it might double as a tracker.” he whispers.

Iwaizumi forgets to breathe for a second. 

_“What?”_ Kyoutani hisses, suddenly much closer; Yahaba puts a hand on his arm to steady him, “They put a fucking _tracker_ in us? Are we animals?”

Matsukawa ignores him. “Are you sure?” he asks, maybe more serious than Iwaizumi’s ever seen him.

Both tech agents nod. 

“So we were thinking,” Kunimi says, “If we could figure out exactly what satellite they use to lock onto them, we could—“

“We could track down Oikawa,” Iwaizumi finishes. 

“Yeah.”

There’s silence. The idea feels…wrong, somehow. Using something forced upon him to track him down like a criminal. 

“Do you think Oikawa knows what they are?” Watari speaks up for the first time. 

“Oh, he definitely knows,” Yahaba says, like it’s obvious—and it is. There’s very little that goes on in this place that Oikawa doesn’t know about. Sometimes, Iwaizumi wonders if the agency really knows how dangerous of a person they would create when they recruited Oikawa. Somewhere, he thinks that maybe they should’ve seen this coming. He wonders if they did. “The question is: how long before he finds a way to get rid of it?” 

 

Years and years back, when they’re both recruits fighting for their right to stay in the program, Oikawa is almost constantly terrified. He never seems like it—he’s a fantastic liar, and an even better actor—but Iwaizumi knows. He can always see it in the way he stands statue-still during evaluations, the way his hands shake from overtraining. 

Iwaizumi is scared, too, of course he is. A recruit is not a good position to be in. Your value as an agent is determined by how well you deal with the training they put you through—whether you succeed and flourish, or crumble under the pressure. It’s a difficult process to go through, but it’s a necessary one—Irihata and all the other department heads say it’s why their agents are so good at what they do. 

And the thing is, you don’t have to be the best to survive. You just have to pass, to do good enough not to fall through the cracks. They were all given a second chance just for this. Nobody wants to be cancelled. 

But the thing about Oikawa, about Tooru, is that he needs to be the best. Even now, far before everything blows up in their face, Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa isn’t too fond of what they’re training to do. He’s never been a very violent person when he doesn’t have to be—critical, yes, able to spot weaknesses and exploit them if he needs to, but Iwaizumi has always been the more physical of the two. 

He’s not fond of it, but he’s always known what he needs to do to survive. So Iwaizumi watches Oikawa convince himself that he wants this. He _wants_ to be the best here, wants to flourish in his training and Serve Their Country, take his second chance and blossom from it. 

He is terrified—of being cancelled, of not believing his lie, of believing his lie, Iwaizumi isn’t sure. It’s all of them, probably. Iwaizumi very deliberately does not point this out—he doesn’t need to make his knowledge known for Oikawa to be aware of it—because it would be pointing out a weakness in a place where weakness is not tolerated. 

Oikawa doesn’t need to think Iwaizumi is another enemy. 

So when another evaluation comes around, the current batch of recruits all lined up, and the agent in charge of them for the day reaches Oikawa, Iwaizumi doesn’t turn to look at him. Doesn’t offer any reassuring look or brush of his hand. Keeps his head straight forwards and lets Oikawa face what he needs to face. 

The man tells him that he’s On The Right Track, definitely a promising recruit, a future agent with a lot of potential—one of the best and brightest they’ve seen in a long while. Keep up the good work, and you won’t be stuck here much longer. 

“Thank you, sir,” he hears Oikawa say beside him, feels him bow, “I won’t let you down.”

Iwaizumi feels like this is the start of something bad, and doesn’t know why.

“You hear that?” Oikawa says later, just the two of them, “I’m one of the ‘ _best and brightest_ ’.” 

He sounds proud of himself, something gloating, and his body language is open and relaxed. Confident. It’s his shoulders that give him away, all drawn up tight like they’ve been stung together with wire. His smile is wide, but it’s fake. (Iwaizumi had caught him practicing in the mirror, once, late at night. He’d jumped when he heard Iwaizumi walk in, but he didn’t deny it. “I’m practicing for when I get promoted,” he’d said with a laugh, “Or maybe I’ll quit someday and become a famous movie star, or perhaps a model.”)

Like then, Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, just tries his best to give him a Look that tells him he can see through his bullshit. After all, he’s been dealing with it for years. 

“It’s good,” Oikawa says, something quietly desperate, “This is good.”

Oikawa won’t look at him. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, because he can’t look at him either, “It’s good.”

 

“Why do think they didn’t tell us about the trackers?” Kindaichi asks quietly. 

Yahaba and Kunimi are still working on decrypting whatever code the agency uses to connect to the chips—it’s a lot of complicated tech-y computer stuff Iwaizumi has no fucking clue about. He had stopped them halfway through their explanation with a _you know what? do your thing, I trust you_ , and ignored Yahaba’s smug eyebrow raise. 

The rest of them hover—not willing to leave but also left with no way to currently help. He and Kindaichi stand to the side, Iwaizumi leaning propped against the wall, shitty vending machine coffee in his hands. He hadn’t been mean enough to refuse the offering the younger agent had brought him. 

Iwaizumi sighs, shaking his head; he feels exhausted, and it’s barely past noon, “I don’t know. Probably in case something like happens.”

“But if we knew, wouldn’t we be more incentivized to stay? You wouldn’t try to leave if you knew they could just…find you.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, “Oikawa did, and he probably knew.”

“Sure, but he’s _Oikawa_ ,” Hanamaki says, walking over to lean against the wall next to Iwaizumi. “He knows a lot but always does stupid shit anyways.”

Iwaizumi hums noncommittally. 

“I kinda agree with Turnip Hair, though,” Hanamaki says after a moment; Kindaichi doesn’t even scowl at the nickname like he usually does, “It doesn’t really make sense that they wouldn’t tell us, y’know?” 

“I guess,” Iwaizumi says, stubborn. He doesn’t want to think about this, about the doubts he’s had in the back of his mind ever since he found out Oikawa left. ( _Don’t you want to get out?_ Oikawa had asked.) “What are you trying to say?”

Hanamaki looks away at the firm tone in his voice, “I don’t know,” he says quietly, “It’s just like, maybe…I mean, if they haven’t told us about this, who knows what else they aren’t telling us? It could’ve been a damn _kill-switch_ for all we knew.” 

Iwaizumi frowns, “If they told all of us everything they wouldn’t be very good spies, would they? No one can spill all the secrets ‘cause no one knows them all.”

“You really don’t care that they know where you are every second of the day?”

Iwaizumi glances at him carefully, “You’re really thinking about this?”

“Honestly, I’m kinda surprised you _aren’t_ thinking about this.” Hanamaki answers, “When I heard Oikawa was gone, the first thing I thought is that you were probably gone, too.” 

Iwaizumi is quiet. Kindaichi looks on nervously. Iwaizumi wonders if Oikawa knows how much influence he has on these people, if he knows he just might ruin all of their lives.

“I know you’re all willing to follow him into hell and all that,” Iwaizumi says eventually, “But betraying the agency just because he did—hell, even just thinking about it? Is that really a path you’re willing to take?”

Hanamaki just looks at him for a moment, “And you’re not?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say to that— _yes, of course I am what the fuck; no, I couldn’t, I’m not sure he would even want me to_ —and is saved the trouble when Yahaba calls him over, gesturing fervently to the computer. 

He can feel two pairs of eyes on his back, and ignores them.

“Do you know where he is?” Iwaizumi asks quickly. 

“We’ve narrowed it down as much as we could,” Yahaba says, pointing to a little red dot blinking on a sky-view map of the city, “And I’m pretty sure we’ve found him. I don’t know how long we’ll have him, though—I’m sure he’ll find a way to get rid of it soon.”

Iwaizumi nods; he knows how quickly Oikawa can work when he needs to. He also knows how he thinks.

“It could be a set-up,” he says, “He could want us to know where he is.”

“Maybe,” Yahaba agrees, “If he does, I’m sure you’re the one he wants to follow him.” 

Iwaizumi knows. “So where is he?”

 

When Oikawa comes back from his first mission, his eyes are empty. 

Maybe _empty_ is too serious of a word. There’s still _life_ in them, there’s still emotion. Oikawa’s eyes have always been something special—he can decode the world with those eyes, strip everything and everyone down to their barest parts. He’s always been great at faking what he needs to, but his eyes always give him away. They’ve never been empty.

If Iwaizumi had to pick a word to describe his eyes right now, curled up on Iwaizumi’s bed, fingers laced loosely together with his own, it would be _sad._ They’re not hopeless, really, and they’re not empty (Iwaizumi thinks vaguely that some of Oikawa’s melodrama must’ve rubbed off on him over the years), they’re just sad.

“She didn’t even scream,” he whispers, “She saw me, she saw the—gun, and she didn’t even scream.” he swallows, “I keep wondering why she didn’t _scream_.”

_It was good that she didn’t scream_ , Iwaizumi could say, _it made things easier, it was quicker, you didn’t have to fight._

He opens his mouth, and realizes he doesn’t actually have much to say at all. 

“They said she was a spy,” you aren’t supposed to share details of a mission after the fact, but everyone knows that if you tell Oikawa or Iwaizumi a secret, you’re basically telling it to both of them, “that she was a threat to our country, but. She didn’t even scream. She didn’t fight at all.” Oikawa pushes himself up onto his elbow, looks at Iwaizumi with those sad sad goddamn eyes, “If she was a spy, why didn’t she _fight_ , y’know? Why didn’t she try?” 

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi says, covering their joined hands with his free one to stop the shaking he feels, “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. It was something you had to do.” 

Oikawa goes quiet, bites his lip and furrows his eyebrows the way he does when he’s thinking—the bad kind of thinking. Nothing good has ever come out of his mouth after that look.

“What if she wasn’t a spy?” he whispers lowly, looking at him with wide, conspiratorial eyes.

“Tooru,” he starts in warning, but Oikawa shakes his head.

“All they told me was like—her name and her address and why we were after her. There were no details.”

“More details come with higher clearance, you know that.” _They can’t catch you doubting._

“Then why didn’t she fight back?” he chokes out, “If she was this deep undercover she had a _cause,_ and she would’ve _fought_ for that. She would’ve fought for her _life_. She didn’t even scream.”

Iwaizumi sits up fast enough to catch Oikawa as he falls against him, burying his head in his chest. He’s always hated crying in front of people—hates showing his face even to Iwaizumi. He says it’s because he’s an ugly crier, but quietly, secretly, Iwaizumi thinks he looks pretty no matter what he’s doing. 

“She didn’t even scream,” he’s saying, hands fisted in Iwaizumi’s shirt, “She just looked at me.”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes. He doesn’t have anything to say—he never has anything to fucking say—but he runs his fingers through Oikawa’s hair the way he likes and shushes him softly, the way his mom used to do for him when he was little, god rest her soul. 

Eventually, Oikawa’s breath evens out. His hands go slack, his shoulders relax. He’s always had this bad habit of crying himself to sleep when he’s exhausted. 

He never says anything about his first mission again, after that night, never mentions his doubts. Iwaizumi files them away as a last ditch way of coping before accepting his place in the world—after all, what else could they be?—and lets himself forget about it. 

 

They pinpoint Oikawa’s location to a cute little coffeeshop in Kanagawa. 

They send the map and coordinates to Iwaizumi’s GPS and promise to keep him updated. He considers bringing along an earpiece to stay in constant communication, like they usually do on missions, but ultimately decides against it. There are things Oikawa might say that they don’t want the agency to have a chance of overhearing. 

Oikawa doesn’t move once on the drive there, the red dot of his tracker on the screen blinking up at him like it’s taunting him. Better get there fast enough. 

Iwaizumi walks into the shop armed and alert, scanning the exits, windows, and corner seats. It’s not a huge place, but it isn’t tiny, either. It’s not crowded, but not quite empty. It’s old, too. Only one camera, near the front door. Perfect place to hide in plain sight, only—he blinks. Oikawa isn’t here. 

He scans the shop a second time, just to be sure. A couple sitting near the window, a college kid with a laptop, a few old women chattering over tea, but no Oikawa. Did he leave just before he got here? Did he already find a way to lose the tracker? 

The barista at the counter raises an eyebrow at him, so he nods an awkward apology and heads to the restroom. He’s a few steps away when his phone rings. An unknown number. He answers it immediately. 

“Yahaba and Kunimi are so smart,” Oikawa says.

Iwaizumi ducks quickly into the restroom, glancing over his shoulder. “Where are you?” he hisses.

“What is it with you and not saying hello?” Oikawa sighs, “You’re so demanding.”

“I’m not the only one who wants to know.”

“Sure, but am I talking to the agency or am I talking to you?”

“I’m talking about the team. They’re the only reason I got this far.”

“What, were you planning on wandering around until you found me?”

“Fuckin’ maybe.”

There’s a pause, “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to walk back out there and order for two—you can get whatever boring old man drink you want for yourself, but I’m in the mood for hot chocolate, and I hear theirs is great. There’s an open table near the back, in the corner, away from any windows. You’re gonna sit there, and wait. You’ll put your gun on safety and giveit to me, along with the knife I know you have on you, when I sit down.”

“Why should I?” Iwaizumi asks, even though he’s already deciding what he should order.

“You came all this way,” is all Oikawa says. 

Iwaizumi hangs up, because the bastard has a point. He wonders if they serve muffins and shit here, too, because he’s barely had a thing to eat all day. 

 

The first time Iwaizumi takes a life, he doesn’t think about it much. There’s no time to, in heat of things—all there’s time to do is his job. He’s in and out of the office building in less than twenty minutes, as according to plan. Honestly, he’s surprised things went so smoothly.

Killing the allegedly corrupt business man isn’t actually that difficult, in retrospect. The guy had done some pretty shitty things with his money. It didn’t happen in slow motion, it wasn’t some big dramatic event like they show on TV. But it wasn’t like he was there one minute and gone the next, either—the body was still there. It’s just the life that was gone.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on that either, no time to look at the dead man slumped over his desk. There was hardly any security in this place, and it was late enough that the few guards that were there were struggling to stay awake, but he still wasn’t going to stick around and wait to get caught. 

In and out in twenty minutes, with no one in the building ever so much as seeing him. (Even the man he killed barely got a look at him before he was dead. Iwaizumi had always been great with stealth. He wonders if that made it better or worse. He didn’t even scream. Bastard didn’t have the time.)

Oikawa is waiting for him when he gets back, after he’s debriefed and officially promoted to agent status, even though Iwaizumi told him not to wait up. They still had shit to do in the morning. 

The way he’s looking at him, like he’s ready to comfort him if he needs to, makes something in his chest tighten, because. Well, he doesn’t think he needs to be comforted. The man he killed was a man who deserved to die, the kind everyone in the world will be better off without. 

He remembers the way Oikawa’s eyes looked a few weeks ago, sad and tired. Old. He wonders what his look like now—if they must look like something to make Oikawa look at him like this.

He doesn’t feel bad, is the thing. The only thing he maybe has a problem with is how underhanded it all had to be. He thinks the guy deserved to _know_ he was going to die before it happened. 

He doesn’t feel bad. He’s not going to cry. He’s not going to shut down or let himself be hung up about it. He doesn’t actually feel much of anything. 

He wonders if that makes him a bad person. (Later, years later, he wonders if that’s why he’s always so willing to take what Oikawa has to offer—it makes him fucking _feel_ something. It makes him feel _alive_ , like he’s good, like he _deserves_ to feel good. Oikawa’s always had that affect on him.)

He doesn’t say these things to Oikawa. He showers and changes and sprawls out on the bed next to his friend. He takes what Oikawa offers, let him hold him close and fall asleep, because that’s always how it’s been: they give each other what they need, and take what the other offers. Keep each other steady.

He doesn’t tell Oikawa about how not guilty he feels, about how empty he feels, but he thinks that Oikawa probably knows anyways. 

Vaguely, he wonders what Oikawa sees when he looks at him,

 

It takes eight minutes and half a muffin for Oikawa to slip in to the seat across from him. When he does, he smiles in a way that makes him think the bastard could’ve been here in half that time, but kept him waiting on purpose. 

He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at the drink in front of him and then pointedly tilts his head down. Scowling, Iwaizumi slides his knife out of his back pocket and slips it quickly across the table. Oikawa raises an eyebrow, and Iwaizumi grudgingly hands the gun off to him under the table. Oikawa pockets both with a smile. 

Iwaizumi is struck with the fact that this is the first time he’s seen Oikawa since he slammed the door on his way out two night ago. He’s dressed the way he usually is while spending time in the civilian world—casual, indiscreet, but still nice. Vaguely sophisticated, with those glasses he only wears when he doesn’t wanna impress anyone (Iwaizumi has told him it actually has the opposite effect), in the way that always catches peoples’ eye. The thing is that he always catches peoples’ eye, no matter what he does. He’s the kind of pretty that almost shouldn’t exist anywhere outside of the movies. 

“Where were you?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa takes a sip of his hot chocolate, “In the parking lot. You walked in so angrily, I’m surprised you didn’t scare someone.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, “Thought you said you were gonna show me how you’ll get away.”

Oikawa shrugs, “I wanted to see how you’d try to talk me out of it. And maybe say goodbye, if I have to.” 

Iwaizumi says nothing. He thinks he probably should’ve walked in here with some kind of plan, but he’d been so focused on just getting there he hadn’t thought at all. Oikawa has always had that kind of affect on him. 

In his silence, Oikawa reaches into the tiny vase filled with little fake flowers that decorate each table, and pulls out a tiny black chip, “I got the tracker out, by the way,” he says, and flicks it across the table, “That’s how you guys ‘found me’, right—the tracker?”

“Yeah,” he picks it up briefly, glancing over it—there’s a little thing just like this in his right hip. He doesn’t wanna think about how Oikawa got it out. 

“It was a messy process,” Oikawa says, like he can read his damn mind, “Kinda fucked up, don’t you think?” 

Iwaizumi ignores the bait, and decides to get to the point, “What do you want? Why am I here?”

“Maybe I just like to fuck with you—I’d just be returning the favor, after all.”

“Shut up.”

“You’d make a horrible diplomat, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs, “Always did have more muscle than brain.”

He frowns, “Did you set all this up just to insult me?”

“Maybe; you always did say I’m too petty for my own good. But no,” he pauses to take a sip, “What are they saying about me? Back at HQ?”

“You’re worried about how _abandoning the agency_ is gonna affect your reputation?”

Oikawa just fucking shrugs, “I’d rather have them know I’m a quitter instead of thinking I’m a double agent. I hate rumors that aren’t true.”

“Most rumors aren’t true. You help _spread_ rumors that aren’t true.”

“Not the point,” he waves a hand dismissively, “Aren’t you a little suspicious of how much they’ve been lying about me?”

“Not really. They don’t want people getting any ideas.”

Oikawa leans forward a little, “If that were really the case, wouldn’t it be better to tell everyone the truth? Send a message—‘this is what happens if you run away’, that kinda thing.”

Iwaizumi pauses, takes a sip of his tea, “Maybe they think you can get away.”

Oikawa is quiet for a moment, seemingly happy with that response, “That’s nice of them. Still, I’d rather they stop talking shit about me to everyone.”

Iwaizumi snorts, “What the hell do you want me to do about it?”

Oikawa plucks the last of the muffin out of his hand and pops it into his mouth like a fucking animal, “I just think they should be honest every once ’n a while. The tracker thing would probably shake the place up a bit, wouldn't it?” he sighs, “I can’t exactly send out proof of not committing a crime, especially if there was no evidence to begin with.”

“And how exactly is that gonna clear your name?”

“All in good time, I guess. It’s a step,” a pause, “Honestly, just as long as the team knows I’m not fucking them over.”

Iwaizumi frowns, “You could come back and explain yourself."

Oikawa laughs, “You know damn well if I walk in those doors I’ll probably be shot on sight. You don’t get second chances there. I’m a threat.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Theirs,” he answers automatically, “They made me like this. I think it’s kinda fitting—poetic justice, y’know?” 

“Thought you hated poetry.”

Oikawa scoffs, “No, that’s you. I think it’s nice, in the right setting. And the agency is all about _justice_ , isn’t it?”

“How exactly are you planning on your big dramatic reveal?”

He smiles, a little crooked, “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to leave while you’re ahead?” Iwaizumi points out, “The longer you stay, the more likely you are to get caught.”

Oikawa pouts, “And here I thought you wanted me to stay.”

Iwaizumi scowls, suddenly angry, “I want you to get your head out of your ass.”

Oikawa laughs again, something bitter this time, “I could say the same to you.”

“You have to make this personal.”

“It’s always been personal, _Hajime_.”

“Fuck you, _Tooru_.”

“No, fuck _you_ ,” Oikawa hisses, hands tightening around his cup. 

They’re silent for a moment, glaring. Iwaizumi feels like a child in a staring contest, but he still glares anyways. Quietly, he thinks that Oikawa probably has more to glare about. 

Oikawa looks away first, glaring into his hot chocolate instead. After a moment, he huffs.

“How did the team find out about the trackers?” he asks; Iwaizumi blinks, surprised, “The files were encrypted, weren’t they? All ‘top secret’ and ‘highest level clearance’ and shit?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “But you know Kunimi and you definitely know Yahaba—they get into whatever shit they want.”

Oikawa smiles fondly, something soft and so private Iwaizumi has to look away, “Yeah, they do,” his smiles disappears a moment later, “You got here faster than I expected, so they got in pretty quick, right?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, doesn’t know if he likes where this is going. 

“So it would be…” he looks over his shoulder—habit that comes with the job—and lowers his voice further, “it would be easy for them to leak that shit. It would be untraceable.”

“No,” Iwaizumi says quickly, “You are _not_ dragging them into this shit.”

Oikawa frowns, “They’re good at what they do, it wouldn’t be traced back to them.”

“They would know it would have to be someone in the agency—with the shit you’ve pulled, our team would be their go-to suspects, are you fucking stupid?”

“They could make it look like an outside source hacked them or some shit—they’d think it was me.”

“Everyone knows you’re shit with tech stuff, it was your worst goddamn subject—they’re not stupid. You can’t just drag everyone into your mess.”

Oikawa scoffs, “Maybe you should let them speak for themselves—they’re not children, they can make their own damn decisions.”

“You know _damn_ well that they’d do it for you if you asked,” Iwaizumi leans forwards, chair scraping across the floor, “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Oh, _I’m_ the asshole? You _know_ the shit the agency’s pulled and you know there’s more than this, you know they’ve been taking dirty jobs for money—they don’t give a shit about killing innocent people as long as they get what they want.”

“You don’t know—“

“I fucking _know_ ,” Oikawa hisses, “The first goddamn lady I killed was _not_ a spy.”

“You don’t _know_ that.”

“She _didn’t even scream,”_ Oikawa snarls, voice shaky and _angry._

Iwaizumi says nothing. Oikawa says nothing either.

“I’m leaving,” he says a few minutes later, waiting for the people that were glancing at them to mind their business again, “But I want people to know why.” 

Iwaizumi looks down. “If you ask them to do this, they will do it.”

Quietly, “I know.”

“And you’re still gonna ask?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

A few long moments, “Why’d you tell me about it—why not go straight to them?”

Oikawa shrugs one shoulder, not meeting his eye, “I don’t know. I guess I just…I wanted to know what you’d say. What you’d think.”

“Well.” is all Iwaizumi can manage, “Now you know.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa lets out a long breath, glances up at him, “You never do say what I want you to. Guess I should know that by now.”

Iwaizumi is quiet, feels something like guilt in his chest. 

“Tooru,” he starts, but Oikawa just shakes his head. 

“I’m going to go now,” he says, voice void of any emotion. Iwaizumi looks up sharply. 

“Where are you going?” he asks reflexively.

Oikawa just shrugs, “You gonna try to stop me? I have your gun.”

Iwaizumi scoffs, “You won’t shoot me.”

“I won’t _kill_ you,” Oikawa corrects him, “I know how to slow someone down without shooting them in the head.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, takes a sip of his tea—it’s cold by now, “You’re so fucking overdramatic, you know that?”

“It’s one of my defining personality traits,” he says, but still doesn’t smile, “I’m taking your knife and your gun, and you can either let me take your car, too, or I can slash all your tires—your choice,” and suddenly that insufferable teasing grin is back.

Iwaizumi frowns, “You know they can easily track that, too, right?”

“So you’re saying you _want_ me to slash your tires?”

“What is it with you and stealing my cars?”

“Technically, they’re not yours; the agency doesn’t allow personal use of their vehicles, remember?”

“Then why don’t you go fuck with someone else’s?”

Oikawa’s grin widens, eyes glinting, “Oh, I have. I stole Irihata’s favorite on my way out last night.”

“You did not.”

Oikawa nods, laughing, “I did—it was actually really easy; for the head of a department, he’s shit at remembering where he put his keys. Maybe that’s why he’s being so mean about all this.” 

Despite himself, Iwaizumi feels something fond in his chest. He rolls his eyes. 

Oikawa’s smile fades, “So am I slashing your tires or what?”

“I’ll have to wait for someone to come get me either way.”

“That’s the plan.”

“You’re such an asshole,” he grumbles as Oikawa stands up. 

“You too,” he says like it’s a compliment, “You did kinda walk into this one, though.”

It’s true, so Iwaizumi just crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. 

“It’d be smarter for you to switch cars, so…have fun, I guess.”

“You giving me advice now?”

Iwaizumi shrugs, “If you’re gonna be an idiot you might as well do it right.”

Oikawa smiles, just a little. He stands, gesturing for Iwaizumi to stay sitting. 

“Wait five minutes after I leave before you get up or call anyone,” he flicks the black chip onto the floor and crushes it under his heel, “And tell the team…tell them I might be in touch.”

Reluctantly, Iwaizumi nods. 

“Thanks for the drink,” Oikawa says. He winks at Iwaizumi, waves goodbye to the barista, and then he’s gone. 

Iwaizumi hears the car start outside, watches as it pulls out of the drive way, spends five minutes sipping at the rest of his gross, cold tea, and picks up his phone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a 6 hour car ride in a few days comment to keep me alive (･ω<)☆
> 
> also hmu on [tumblr](http://gaynasas.tumblr.com/) if u ever wanna talk abt these boys


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